Pain had become familiar to Bai Ye far too quickly.
That realization alone unsettled him.
In his previous life, pain was something to be avoided—managed with medicine, ignored with distraction, or erased with anesthesia. Here, pain was a language. It spoke of weakness, of limits, of how close one stood to being erased.
His eyes opened slowly.
The ceiling above him was dark wood, aged and cracked, carved with demonic inscriptions that pulsed faintly in crimson light. The glow was weak, but constant, like a heart that refused to stop beating even when wounded.
The medical hall.
Again.
Bai Ye exhaled, the breath leaving his lungs in a slow, controlled stream. He did not attempt to rise immediately. Experience—both old and newly gained—warned him that impatience would only worsen his condition.
He listened instead.
The Heavenly Demon Cult was never silent. Even here, on the edge of its inner territory, sound lingered in layers: distant footsteps, low murmurs of disciples passing by, the faint clang of metal somewhere far off. It was the sound of a sect that thrived on conflict.
This body was seventeen years old.
Seventeen years spent wasting opportunity.
The original Bai Ye had been born with advantages many would kill for: a powerful clan, a father with influence, access to resources. Yet he had treated cultivation like an obligation rather than a weapon. He postured, offended, and relied on protection that was never absolute.
A fool's arrogance.
Bai Ye flexed his fingers slowly, watching them tremble before steadying.
> If I continue as he did, I won't even make it to the selection.
He turned his attention inward.
His condition was… poor, but not beyond salvation. Meridians narrow yet intact. Qi circulation sluggish but responsive. His muscles, though underdeveloped, reacted eagerly when he focused on them, as if starved for proper refinement.
Most importantly, the warmth within him persisted.
The Yang-aligned physique worked quietly, steadily reinforcing his vitality. It did not grant him immediate strength, but it prevented decay. Damage healed faster. Fatigue receded more easily. Given time—and proper cultivation—it would become terrifying.
Time, however, was the one thing demonic sects rarely granted.
At the edge of his vision, a faint notification shimmered into existence.
> [System Notification: Survival probation ongoing.]
[Elapsed Time: 1 day, 16 hours.]
No reward.
No encouragement.
Just a reminder that something was watching.
Bai Ye dismissed it without a thought.
The system had already shown its nature. It was not a savior—it was an evaluator. Whether he lived or died depended entirely on his actions.
Footsteps approached.
Deliberate. Heavy.
Bai Ye's eyes sharpened.
The door to the medical chamber opened without courtesy, striking the wall with a dull thud. A man stepped inside, his presence immediately altering the atmosphere of the room.
Dark robes. Broad shoulders. A cultivation base that pressed down like invisible weight.
Bai Zhen.
One of his father's sworn brothers. A core disciple of the Heavenly Demon Cult. And one of the many people who would not mourn if Bai Ye disappeared.
"You're awake," Bai Zhen said, voice flat. "I expected you to sleep longer."
Bai Ye pushed himself into a seated position. Pain flared along his spine, then faded as the Yang physique compensated. He inclined his head slightly.
"Uncle."
The word was spoken with perfect neutrality.
Bai Zhen's eyes swept over him, cold and assessing, as if measuring livestock rather than kin. "You collapsed during body refinement training."
He paused, letting the silence weigh down.
"Three elders saw it."
Bai Ye nodded. "Then the matter is already public."
Bai Zhen's brow furrowed slightly. That response had not been what he expected.
"You don't deny it?" Bai Zhen asked.
"There's nothing to deny," Bai Ye replied calmly. "My foundation is weak. That isn't a secret."
The blunt admission shifted the atmosphere.
Bai Zhen narrowed his eyes. "You're aware that rumors are spreading?"
"Yes."
"And you're not concerned?"
Bai Ye met his gaze. "Concern doesn't change facts."
The room grew colder.
Bai Zhen stepped closer, his presence pressing down harder. "You embarrass the Bai Clan. Do you understand that?"
"I understand that strength determines worth here," Bai Ye said evenly. "And I lack it—for now."
That final phrase lingered.
Bai Zhen studied him in silence.
Then he spoke, voice sharp. "The Inner Disciple Selection will take place in three months."
Bai Ye felt no surprise. He had already anticipated it.
"This selection," Bai Zhen continued, "will be stricter than previous years. Outer disciples, branch clans, even independent cultivators are sharpening themselves for it."
His lips curled faintly.
"You will not survive it in your current state."
Bai Ye inclined his head slightly. "That is likely."
The killing intent flickered—brief, but unmistakable.
"You speak as if your survival matters," Bai Zhen said.
"It matters to me," Bai Ye replied.
Silence stretched between them.
In the Heavenly Demon Cult, silence was a test. Bai Ye did not rush to fill it.
Finally, Bai Zhen raised his hand.
The pressure intensified. Not enough to kill—but enough to cripple.
Bai Ye did not move.
"If I kill you now," Bai Zhen said slowly, "no one would miss you."
"That's untrue," Bai Ye answered calmly. "My father would."
Bai Zhen's hand stopped inches from Bai Ye's chest.
"…Explain."
"My father hasn't disowned me," Bai Ye continued. "If I die without cause, questions will be asked. Elders dislike unanswered questions."
He paused.
"And I doubt you want that attention."
Bai Zhen stared at him.
For a long moment, the room felt frozen in time.
"…You've changed," Bai Zhen said at last.
Bai Ye smiled faintly. "People often do when they wake up."
Bai Zhen lowered his hand with a sharp scoff. "Enjoy your borrowed time."
He turned toward the door, stopping just before exiting.
"Three months," he said without looking back. "If you fail, even your father won't shield you."
The door slammed shut.
The pressure vanished.
Bai Ye exhaled slowly, finally allowing his shoulders to relax.
> He won't move openly.
Not yet.
But Bai Ye was under no illusion. Bai Zhen was only one of many. The Heavenly Demon Cult was a place where weakness was hunted, not pitied.
He lay back against the bed, staring at the ceiling.
Three months.
Not enough time to become a monster.
But enough time to stop being prey.
Outside, disciples trained relentlessly. Geniuses refined their bodies. Schemes brewed in shadows. Everyone prepared for the selection that would elevate some—and erase many.
No one noticed the weakest young master in the medical hall, quietly recalculating his future.
"Survive the seven days," Bai Ye murmured.
"Then I'll worry about everything else."
His eyes gleamed faintly in the dim crimson light.
---
Author's Note (Chapter 3)
This chapter is intentionally grounded. No new system mechanics, no sudden power jumps—only pressure, politics, and positioning. Bai Ye is weak, and the world knows it. What saves him here isn't strength, but awareness of consequences and understanding how demonic sects truly operate.
The timeline is now fully locked:
7-day survival probation is ongoing
3 months until Inner Disciple Selection
From here onward, preparation becomes active. Cultivation repair, resource acquisition, and calculated moves will begin in Chapter 4. Bai Ye's transformation will be gradual, earned, and ruthless.
Villains don't rise by rushing.
They rise by lasting.
---